


This Autumn Road

by FebruarysRiver



Category: Original Work
Genre: From a much longer work currently in the backburner, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Unfinished, excerpt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23027479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FebruarysRiver/pseuds/FebruarysRiver
Summary: !!Chapter excerpt from an unfinished work written during NaNoWriMo. Let that inform you of the quality.!!Yan Xu, a 34 years old CEO, died and was transmigrated into the body of the 16 years old Sixth Prince of Jing Country.Except the capital had been razed to the ground, the Sixth Prince never had political or military power, and Yan Xu had no intentions of living a second tiring life. Let those other princes fight for the throne; he wanted to settle here in this mountain and learn medicine.But could he really detach himself from the imperial struggles, when his brothers reached out their hands and threatened the people he'd grown to hold dear?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	This Autumn Road

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work I don't intend to work on anytime soon, but will be slowly plotting out and compiling research for along the way. Upon writing it for NaNoWriMo, I realized that this needs a lot more research than I had at hand; it quickly grew out of control. Work on that research continues as I focus on writing other things.

The city cried in long, mournful creaks and cracks as flames crackled high into the sky.

In the remnants of the carnage, human cries had long since ceased. The inner city walls had been breached— the Palace had been broken into. Fire ravaged all it could touch, sticky as honey— in the depths of this bright night, a young figure stumbled past a corpse on fire. His sweating hand clutched a sword as he ran. Not too far behind him, the sounds of a small group giving chase and shouting were swallowed by the thick, smoky air.

Ember and gray flakes rained heavenward. Following a moan-like creak from above, the young man looked up to see a charred beam swinging down to the ground.

* * *

Yan Xu awoke to pristine white ceilings and the sound of birds.

His entire body throbbed in various degrees, as if questioning how and _why_ he survived. He wanted to look down and check on it, but something restrained his waist and moving his neck only showed him so much. It— it did show him….

He definitely wasn’t in a hospital.

Yan Xu looked around. The windows were rice paper, diffusing the sunlight into an ambient white glow covering the room. The dampness in the air reminded him of early mornings in company camping trips. The room was bare but spacious. There was nothing here to indicate his location— this could be anywhere in any mountain, like a traditional resort designed for a getaway from busy urban life.

He shifted his right arm. It stung then throbbed.

Definitely wasn’t here for a vacation, though. He was… he was in the car, on the way to a party in a grand hotel in the mountains, it was late and he was in the backseat, reading—

It was raining earlier that night, but he no longer paid any attention after some time. Then?

A clack and sliding wood— Yan Xu startled at the noise and looked up.

“Ah, you’re awake?”

The man who entered seemed to be in his thirties, wearing gentle green robes and holding a white fan with ink reeds. His face had laughter lines, and his eyes are bright— not a bad person, he thought. There was confidence in how he walked over; owner of this place, it looked like. Yan Xu nodded.

“How are you feeling, then? Have you been awake for long? It’s about time for your breakfast, so I came over to check up on you, but then hey, you’re awake! That’s great.” The man cheerfully chattered as he sat on the wooden bed, taking his left hand and placing his thumb over his wrist. This arm— it definitely belonged to someone young, a gangly teenager at best. Yan Xu paused.

“Right,” the man said, seemingly answering his own questions. “You’re probably wondering where you are. Well, Sixth Prince, you’re in Lingshan Pavilion, and I’m your resident physician Chi Yuheng. Your Imperial Guards brought you here three days ago, but the journey from the capital is a week’s worth so it’s been quite a while, you might feel a bit out of it but that’s normal. Try not to move your back for the time being, and your right arm; they’re healing, let them rest. We put boards on them so it won’t move but it’s uncomfortable, I know. Bear with it for a while. So let me see….”

Sixth Prince. Imperial Guards. Those words baffled Yan Xu, but he also felt they were familiar and right— it was hard to really separate the experience, but Yan Xu felt perhaps it was more his _body_ that remembered it, like muscle memory.

Sixth Prince. He was the sixth out of eight, Yang Hui, courtesy name Yuanye, Prince Sujing. This year, he turned sixteen… he spent it in ancestral temple. He didn’t have guards, though— his father the Emperor never cared for him, so nobody remembered his existence anyway. So these Imperial Guards, he had no idea where they came from. And right, the Emperor died two years ago.

Yan Xu shook his head— this was outright a downhill slope. Each memory triggered the next, and it was— disconcerting.

Was this transmigration?

“Your Highness? Ah, no, don’t think too much yet Your Highness, get better first before you start worrying about other things.” Chi Yuheng let go of his hand to pat his shoulder. “I know you have much to think about, but try not to think about them too much. Breakfast will be here in a moment. Try to eat them all— they’re medicated, so if you finish them you won’t have to drink additional medicine.”

“Thank you,” Yan Xu rasped out. Chi Yuheng brightened.

“Ah, great, you speak! I was worried the shock was too much. Well, I have to go and check on others; I’ll have someone bring you a bell, so if you need anyone you can just ring that. I’ll be back at lunchtime. In the meantime, eat well and get back to rest.”

Chi Yuheng left with more energy than when he entered— good for him, Yan Xu supposed. He, on the other hand….

He couldn’t remember what happened after his memories of that night ended, but he could surmise. He must’ve died. But what was this? A second chance? One that he didn’t think he would want?

* * *

The low, heavy voice of a _qin_ rippled across the duck pond, carrying the solemn melody to the beyond.

A month had passed. The wounds on Yang Hui’s body had largely healed, with the bone-deep gash on his left arm being the last to crust and peel off. Yan Xu was an exemplary patient, too, following instructions well; before long, he had regained most of his strength. As it was, though, being in the same room doing nothing for weeks would’ve driven him insane, so Chi Yuheng had allowed him to do light activities: reading books, taking short, slow walks, play music. It truly was an idle life— Yan Xu hadn’t had this much free time since he was old enough to go to school. It was a great experience. Yan Xu gave it five stars out of five.

A week ago, Chi Yuheng’s daughter Chi Xingxing would sometimes come to him for companionship. She was ten, six years younger than Yang Hui, yet clever with her words and had quite a mean streak. Of course, her father being who he was, respect for patients was drilled into her, so he wasn’t a target at all— the target she had chosen, and had chosen for the past three years, was Liang Changlin, Chi Yuheng’s lover. Sometimes, while Chi Yuheng was away to do his morning rounds in the healing hall, she’d sneak into Yang Hui’s room with her books on acupuncture and chatter away as she borrowed him as a medical mannequin. This week, though, she’d gone down the mountain with Liang Changlin. For the festival, she said. There was never a festival here in Lingshan Pavilion.

The three Imperial Guards that saved him weren’t here either. The leader in that group, a Captain named Xiao Lan, returned to the capital city to gather news, while his subordinates were sent off to Beichuan, the second-most influential city, to do the same.

“You’ve played that song thrice today, Your Highness. Preparing for a performance?”

After standing around for the past ten minutes or so, Chi Yuheng finally spoke.

“Mm.” His mind had wandered the entire afternoon, and he retrieved many more fragments of Yang Hui’s memories. Yan Xu had decided he was Yang Hui now— perhaps not the 16 years old Yang Hui that only knew this life, but _a _Yang Hui nonetheless. Yan Xu died that day, in that world. Yang Hui might’ve died in that burning city that day, but he came back now. Yang Hui hummed, then lightly said, “Fourth Brother’s study group was supposed to play a piece each for the Imperial Tutor a week ago, so that he may see our progress. It’s most definitely cancelled now, but maybe he’ll still remember this homework next time we meet.”

Chi Yuheng almost choked at that. “Your— Your Highness’s dedication is unparalleled. I’m sure if he hears that he’d be happy to have taught such a studious learner.”

They glanced at each other for a moment before Chi Yuheng finally started laughing. “Your Highness, I beg you, don’t teach Xing-_er_ that. The moment she learns to say such things with a straight face is the moment we are doomed. I think she had been imitating you a bit, trying to act a bit more solemnly as she said things like ‘then Father’s Linlin may join me on my trip to the town’. Changlin wasn’t drinking anything, but he choked and started coughing at that.”

“…I most definitely have not taught her anything,” Yang Hui peacefully said, resuming his playing. This time, it was a melody that had gone rusty within this brain— it was a song Yang Hui learned years ago, and one that didn’t have many memories attached to it. He only remembered the quiet class in which he played this song. “Maybe she learned from someone else.”

Chi Yuheng snorted. “That girl, she only really listens to people she likes. Heavens know what she’ll be like if she learned from Xiao Lan— actually, that reminds me. I was looking for you to tell you that Xiao Lan will be returning tomorrow morning. Be ready for that, mm?”

Yang Hui inwardly raised his eyebrows. Still, in the end, he said, “All right.”

Chi Yuheng left after the song ended. Yang Hui, now alone with the steadily setting sun, began to process the memories clinging to the threads of the weighty melody: it was the song his Concubine Mother, Concubine Luohua, loved. The first time she truly interacted with him was when she asked him to learn it and play it for her. She was more preoccupied with it than with her son; she never did want him, never wanted to enter the Inner Palace. The song was titled ‘Mountain Witness’, a transcribed folk song from the northeastern region. He played thrice today; the first to break this body’s innate resistance towards those repressed feelings, the second to let the freezing cold flow through his limbs, and the third to understand the emotions. Yang Hui had a cold constitution, rather like Yan Xu in his previous body— a tendency for his arms to feel clammy and uncomfortable, with sweaty palms that worsened the chill. But Yan Xu was thirty four, and had long since learned how to live with it. Yang Hui was sixteen and struggled with his resentment and loneliness too much to tame this eternal cold.

Yan Xu sighed. Xiao Lan had worked hard to save this person— would he be happy to see what kind of person he had saved?

* * *

## CHAPTER 2

* * *

Xiao Lan and his subordinates arrived when Yang Hui was doing his morning routine _qigong— _a set of gentle movements and practices recommended to him by Chi Yuheng, to slowly reintroduce his body to activities and to calm his mind. It had been something that grew popular while Yan Xu was alive, but he never participated in it, even though his company did host something similar for its employees on weekend mornings. Now he was somewhat regretting not joining it. When he finished, his gaze was clear and tranquil as he looked at the three men.

“Your Highness, Prince Sujing.”

Dressed in plain robes, the three Imperial Guards looked unassuming. Yang Hui knew that the one in the lead had to be Xiao Lan, though, given everything Chi Yuheng had said; however, he didn’t know the names of the other two. One was tall and bulky, friendly-faced and dressed in off-white clothing, while the other, lankier and sharper, wore muted brown. Yang Hui could tell that they were both good men, though. Both Yan Xu and Yang Hui grew up reading people.

Xiao Lan, meanwhile, was wrapped in brick red. The clothes themselves weren’t notable, but the way he dressed and conducted himself made Yang Hui wonder if he was from a noble family, or perhaps a military one. His hair was pulled back into a tidy high ponytail, revealing his clean face and bright, hard eyes. There was a sharpness to his gaze that belied his youth— it was critical in a fiery way, like a student questioning the validity of authority. The space between his eyebrows had remnants of creases, showing that he furrowed them more often than not. It wasn’t a bad thing, though. He had a heroic aura to him, with his straight back and squared shoulders— his face wasn’t eye-catchingly handsome, but the way he carried himself made it hard to look away.

“You’ve travelled a long distance,” Yang Hui said, a smile on his face. “Why don’t we go sit down somewhere?”

A servant boy came up to him with folded cloth; Yang Hui thanked him and wiped his own face. Then, gently, “_Xiao_ Min, can I trouble you to check and see which garden is free? I’d like tea and snacks for four, too.”

_Xiao_ Min nodded, bowed then scurried off. Xiao Lan’s eyes followed him until he disappeared from view, Yang Hui noted with interest.

“My apologies for not checking beforehand,” Yang Hui said. “It’s my mistake.”

“Your Highness need not be so polite,” Xiao Lan said. “We are your Imperial Guards.”

Everyone and their family knew that Yang Hui had never been assigned guards, but they really didn’t have a choice any longer now. The one they saved was Prince Sujing. Deciding not to think about it too much, Yang Hui turned to other things. “Have your journeys been smooth? The situation in the country must be chaotic at the moment; there must’ve been rampant looting and banditry.”

Chi Yuheng refused to tell much about the situation outside Lingshan Pavilion to a recovering patient, but Yang Hui knew from this body’s stored memory that the Second Prince had been the one to lead the siege against the capital city, and that barbarians made up a sizeable number of his troops. Their country had been experiencing high tension with the barbarian empire in the northwest— they were probably taking advantage of the chaos to speed up this country’s destruction.

The “barbarians” in Yang Hui’s mind, Yan Xu assumed they were peoples similar to the Turkic and Sino-Tibetan groups living in the northern plains in the real world— well, his world. The _Hu, _their counterpart back home. Here the exonym for this collective was different from the word “barbarian”, though; being a Prince of Jing country, it was understandable that Yang Hui would see those people as an enemy seeking to invade, so he might’ve stuck to “barbarians”. But Yan Xu had an interest in history for years, and he’d read up on them after several of his favorite historical novels, so he had a better, less partial understanding of the regional politics at the time. And perhaps because of him being a transmigrator, he didn’t have the same biases as Yang Hui.

The “barbarians” here were actually four different groups, likely to be from different ancestries too. The Ahyu, Chenxi, Pantian and Qili. Collectively, they were called the Four Norths by the people of Jing country.

Unfortunately, Yang Hui’s knowledge of them was extremely limited. Yan Xu would’ve loved to know what kind of people they were, especially given the fact that so little remained of the _Wu Hu _in his world.

“Our journeys were thankfully smooth,” Xiao Lan said. “Rest assured, Your Highness, we didn’t encounter bandits bar the ones we were stopping from harassing our people.”

Before Yang Hui could answer, though, _xiao_ Min returned. “Your Highness.”

Yang Hui nodded his thanks, then turned to Xiao Lan with a smile. “I’m glad, then. But let’s go sit down first, shall we? _Xiao_ Min, please lead the way.”

Lingshan Pavilion was built on Mount Ling, and there was hardly a spot within that wasn’t picturesque. The area _xiao _Min found them was one near the pond, the one Yang Hui spent his afternoons around. Most days, he simply stayed near its edges; sometimes, though, Chi Xingxing would pull him to show off the ducks and various animals nesting nearby, or her father would invite him for tea on one of the nearby garden tables. Right now, on one of those tables were platters of pastries and tea. A tree provided shade, dappled shadows swaying to the tune of the winds.

Morning sunlight turned the pond surface into glittering fragments of crystals, the breeze combing through the tall reeds. After sitting down, Yang Hui poured them all tea, gesturing at the three to start.

Xiao Lan took charge. “The First Prince’s people started cleaning up the city several days after the sacking. Most of the commoners’ area are—”

“I’m unclear on the entire story behind this,” Yang Hui interrupted. “Start from the beginning, please.”

The beginning was, of course, the rebellion that started it all. The Second Prince showed up in front of the city gates with an army, bringing accusation that Consort Nanyue was conspiring to have the princes other than her son, the Crown Prince, killed. Some people in the Palace actually suspected that to be true, as there had been suspicious activities and people within ever since the Emperor died and left the throne currently empty; these people were later seen meeting up with Consort Nanyue’s people.

But the problem was, to fight back against Consort Nanyue clan’s power, the Second Prince brought back mercenaries from the northern steppes’ clans— and they hadn’t been happy with the late Emperor for the past ten years. When they saw the capital city and the Imperial Palace, they lost themselves to righteous anger.

“Who survived, in the end?”

“…Concubine Luohua was found dead in her palace,” Xiao Lan said solemnly. “Our condolences, Your Highness.”

To that, Yan Xu looked away.

Not because of the news. Because Yang Hui actually found his mother not long after she committed suicide, as she bled out with a smile on her face.

He didn’t even run in to check on her when he saw what was happening. She took a sword to the neck, an incredibly gruesome and bloody way to die— Yang Hui simply ran away. He didn’t know whether her corpse had burned in her residence or not, and honestly he didn’t want to know.

They said the late Emperor only married her out of spite, and that she loved someone he had grown to hate. If the only way out of that cursed marriage she saw was to turn to death’s embrace, then so be it. Yan Xu himself didn’t have anything to say. His own mother had divorced his father when he was five, and had never shown her face again.

Perhaps it was better that way.

“…What about the others?” Yang Hui asked instead.

“The Second Prince was executed two weeks ago for the rebellion. The Crown Prince was taken out of the city before the sacking and burning started, but Consort Nanyue died during the chaos. At the moment he’s safe, but his location is unknown for security reasons.”

Yang Hui listened without an expression crossing his face. Xiao Lan continued.

“The Fifth Princess and her guards were mobbed on the way out of the city. The Seventh Prince managed to escape the barbarians looting the palace, but ended up trapped in his hiding place… we only found the body eleven days ago.”

Something broke.

The three guards startled— Yang Hui did, too, at their surprised gazes. He looked down— nothing was amiss, he’d let go of his tea cup and there was nothing in his hands. His fists were clenched tight, but no skin broke or wounds reopened. He let his hands open and relax, just to make sure, and there was nothing. But they looked at him like he’d done something.

“Hmm?” His throat felt too clogged up for him to speak, so he settled for that. Xiao Lan was the first one to find his voice again.

“My deepest condolences, Your Highness.”

His voice was rough, sandpapered and deep.

Yang Hui didn’t answer.

The Third Princess was married and moved away five years ago. The Fourth Prince had departed to his maternal clan’s home, so he was more likely to have survived. But the Fifth Princess, Princess Anxun, and Seventh Prince Yang Han….

In the entire palace, the only ones Yang Hui felt even a thread of a bond with were them.

Yan Xu was genuinely glad the Emperor died. If he was alive, he had a feeling that this body would not have wanted to live anymore after hearing this news.

“Please drink and eat something, Your Highness,” Ming Bai said, pushing forward the plate and refilling Yang Hui’s cup. “These reports aren’t urgent, take the time Your Highness needs….”

Yan Xu took the food and drink, but shook his head at the latter half. “Please, continue.”

Xiao Lan shook his head. “There isn’t much else for today, Your Highness. Rebuilding Shuangshi will take many years if not decades, so the court and official palace has been temporarily moved to Beichuan. The move started not long before I left. If Your Highness wishes to return….”

“I won’t return to the Palace,” Yang Hui said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I ever will. Thank you for everything, though. If you decide to return, then feel free to do so. If you need anything from me, or if there’s anything I can do for you, then please let me know. But I won’t return.”

In his life, Yan Xu was already a thirty four years old CEO; while the company wasn’t an industry giant, it already gave him a taste of that power, and he wasn’t too interested. He hadn’t even mentioned the insane lengths Yang Hui’s brothers and relatives were willing to go for the throne. Returning would mean binding himself back to that nightmarish prison, to be slowly pushed forward to an inevitable execution.

He was a tired man. While unlikely to come true, he’d like to live this life a bit more peacefully. Judging from the feelings he got from this body, Yang Hui might appreciate that, too. Everything was more than enough already.

“Then, Your Highness,” Xiao Lan started, “what will you do after this?”

“I can’t stay here forever, and I don’t plan to,” Yang Hui answered. The fingers of his right hand lightly traced the rim of his cup. “But I don’t know my options as of yet. I’ll let you know as soon as possible. Rest assured, though, that you’re under no obligation to follow me if it’s not something you wish to do.”

Xiao Lan’s expression distorted for a moment, but returned to normal before Yang Hui could tell what it was. It looked somewhat like he was disheartened, which Yang Hui could understand; that kind of hesitant, weak leadership _was_ quite worrisome. But it was the best he could offer at the moment. He was here on Chi Yuheng’s charity, had no political power, capital or concrete knowledge about the world he lived in. Frankly, initially he wanted to ask Chi Yuheng whether it was possible to work under him. While Yang Hui had no marketable skills, Yan Xu had 16 years of experience in various positions within his company. It might not be directly applicable, but a few adjustments and he was sure he could do _something._

**Author's Note:**

> Areas of focus for next drafts:  
* character relationships development and pacing  
* exposition pacing  
* test realistic word counts per chapter  
* not having this sound like the most boring thing since a math national exam prep workbook  
* better research and world-building


End file.
